Need You
by Simallyher
Summary: It was only a small fight, but John still left. Pairing: Sherlock/John. Warnings: Light angst, light fluffiness, slash but nothing graphic at all.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi, this is my first Sherlock fic, I'm just playing with the characters and trying out how they work. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Sherlock, that's all ACD and BBC, if I owned, Watson would marry Sherlock.

It had been over something as small as Sherlock leaving hair in a cup of milk in the fridge, there was no reason to think that John would react adversly to it being that he'd seen a full head in their fridge only a week ago. Sherlock had tried to explain, he needed to see how the hair would be affected by the lactose in the milk, but John hadn't listened, or he had but it wasn't good enough this time.

Sherlock sat on the sofa staring at the crime scene photos that were spread across the coffee table, he'd been trying to find something to help the case for two days now, ignoring Lestrade's texts and calls. Running a hand through his already ruffled hair, he glanced over at John's arm chair, the Union Jack cushion was askew and one of John's jumpers was rumpled on the seat. Glancing at the photos again he heard the knock on the front door, muffled voices and footsteps on the stairs up to their - his - flat.

"Sherlock," Lestrade's head appeared around the door.

"Lestrade," Sherlock continued to stare at the photos.

"I need to know what you've got on the case, we've run into another dead end. I've been trying to call you," Lestrade went to sit in John's chair.

"Not there," Sherlock snapped, glancing up at Lestrade.

Lestrade held John's jumper in his hands before hastily replacing it on the chair, stepping around the coffe table Lestrade sat on the opposite sofa. "Where's John?"

"Out"

"I can see that, he's not answering either," Lestrade stated. "I really need your help."

Sherlock gave a derisive snort, "my help."

"Yes Sherlock, you're help! Someone is out there killing people and I need your help!" Lestrade snapped standing up. "If John were here he'd make you see-"

"He's not here! Now leave," Sherlock barked throwing the photos from the table. "Just get out!"

Lestrade watched the emotion ripple over Sherlock's face before he shut down again, glancing around the flat he noticed a distinct lack of John anywhere. His laptop was gone, there were tea cups shattered around the edges of the room. John was gone. Without saying a word he left Sherlock and made his way down to Mrs Hudson.

"What happened?" Lestrade asked once they were inside Mrs Hudson's.

"I'm not sure dear, but there was some shouting and things were thrown, after it went quiet for a short while before I heard a loud noise in the corridor, John was cursing something; probably his leg dear, it's been giving him trouble since the weather turned; but he stopped by, apologising about something to do with Sherlock and he was gone," Mrs Hudson sniffled wiping her nose with a hankerchief. "I thought it was just another one of their domestics, they have so many over Sherlock's little experiments you see, but John hasn't been back for two days now."

"Has Sherlock left the apartment since then?" Lestrade glanced up, he could still see Sherlock on the couch, rumpled and devastated.

"Not once! He threw some things around yesterday, been playing that violin terribly but he hasn't stepped outside the apartment once," Mrs Hudson sniffled again, "I do hate it when they fight."

"Me too," Lestrade strightened his jacket, "I must be off though Mrs Hudson, let me know if anything changes."

"I will dear," Mrs Hudson showed Lestrade to the door, "it's nice to know Sherlock has so many nice friends."

Lestrade smiled and left 221b Baker, pulling up the collar of his jacket against the wind, he crossed the street and looked up at the second floor window. Sherlock was staring into the street, but Lestrade knew better than to think he was watching him leave.

Back inside 221b Baker street, Sherlock watched the snow fly past the window, of course he saw Lestrade look up but he wasn't paying him any attention. His eyes were glued to the last place he saw John, his stomach clenched with an unfamiliar feeling. Turning back to the lounge, Sherlock stretched out on the couch and replayed the night over and over in his mind. Surely John wasn't that angry over a small experiment?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Just incase it's not obvious. This is the flashback to the fight.

_John entered 221b Baker street exhausted from his day, mentally as well as physically. He wasn't supposed to work the clinic today, he and Sherlock were supposed to be interviewing Taylor Lawson's partners, but Sarah had called and he'd gone. _

_John groaned as he pictured the sulking mess that was awaiting him on the otherside of the door. Sherlock hadn't been happy when he'd gotten dressed for the clinic, he's tried to explain but Sherlock had shut him out, picked up the violin and schreeched until he'd left. John did notice that it was now silent, almost too silent. His heartbeat began to quicken when his thoughts strayed to Sherlock being in danger. He hastened his steps up to their apartment and burst through the door to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa, legs dangling over the edge and photos of the crime scene in his hands._

"_Sherlock," John greeted his flatmate._

_Sherlock continued to flick through the crime scene photos, a raised eyebrow the only indication that he'd heard him. Great, silent treatment, sometimes Sherlock was so childish!_

"_Any leads on the case?" John tried a different tactic._

_Sherlock's eyes flicked to him and back to the photos._

"_Okay," John sighed, dropping his bag and hanging up his jacket. "Tea?"_

_Nothing._

_Sighing again John walked into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle, John opened the cupboard to find his mug. Frowning John moved a couple of the mugs to the side and kept searching. It was odd, John was certain he'd rinsed his mug and replaced it back where he always left it. His frown deepened when he looked in the sink to find it was absent from there as well._

"_Sherlock?" John asked, double checking the cupboard. "Sherlock, have you seen my dad's mug? You know the one, purple and green, has the army logo on it with my dad's rank?" John walked back into the lounge. "Sherlock?"_

"_I haven't seen it," Sherlock stated, eyes never leaving the photos._

"_Oh okay, I guess I could use a different one today," John shrugged, "must have left it under something."_

_After filling his new mug with hot water and a tea bag, John opened the fridge to grab the milk and froze._

"_Sherlock?" John called, biting back his anger. "Sherlock?"_

"_What is it John?" Sherlock asked from the doorway._

"_When you said you hadn't seen my mug..."_

"_Yes John, I haven't seen it," Sherlock sighed, shifting towards the table checking another experiment._

"_Yes, that's what I thought you said," John took a deep breath. "Care to explain what this is?"_

_Sherlock looked over at John, "That would be an experiment," Sherlock grinned. "I'm trying to find out if hair still absorbs calcium after being removed from the scalp."_

"_Interesting," John bit out, "notice anything about container?"_

"_That would be a mug John," Sherlock eye's darted to the mug and back to John, "oh."_

"_Yes, oh," John snapped. "One thing! One thing in this entire house you were not to touch, were not to use in anyway!"_

"_John, it's just a mug, I'll buy you a new one," Sherlock turned back to his experiment. "Nothing to get worked up by."_

_John threw the mug at Sherlock without thinking, causing Sherlock to jump back as milk and splash across his hands, the mug skidding across the table and falling onto the floor breaking the handle in the process._

"_John!" Sherlock stared at him._

"_I'm done," John whispered, brushing past Sherlock._

"_It's a mug John, think logically!" Sherlock called after him._

"_It wasn't _just _a mug Sherlock! It was my father's, my dead father's mug!" John whirled back onto Sherlock, the doctor may be shorter than Sherlock, but what he lacked in height he made up for in physical presence. John loomed over Sherlock, "one thing Sherlock, it was the only thing I asked you to leave alone, you've got my laptop, my milk, my kettle, the living room, the bathroom, the kitchen table and the bloody fridge! One thing, one small object in this entire flat that was mine and mine alone and you couldn't help yourself could you Holmes?" John realised he was bearing down on Sherlock now, the man's eyes were wide and frightened. _

"_I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered._

"_A little too late," John sighed, stepping away from Sherlock. "A little too late."_

_John stormed up the stairs to his room, grabbing his clothes and other items, he piled them into the suitace and dragged it down the stairs. Stopping for his jacket and work bag, John cast one last broken look at Sherlock before leaving. As John crossed the street, he refused to look back, refused to see Sherlock staring down from the window. He knew if he'd looked he would've stayed._


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: We're swapping to John's POV for this chapter!

John stared up at the ceiling of Harry's living room, why did he decide to come here? Oh that's right, Sarah was still angry over their break up, he didn't know where Lestrade lived and Mike was out of the country, that left his sister or back to Sherlock. Sherlock. John wasn't angry anymore, if he was honest he was over his anger the moment he left Baker street, but Sherlock had to learn! John thumped the back of the sofa, his thoughts swirling around. It was probably the whiskey. John hated how Harry drank, but she'd been helpful in making him forget, her and her stash of whiskey, but it wasn't enough. John ached, he'd been gone two days now and instead of cursing Sherlock, he couldn't stop seeing the small, frightened look on Sherlock's face when he'd lost it.

He reached for his phone, how easy it would be to call him, ask forgiveness. Sherlock was right, it was just a mug. John laughed humourlessly into the darkness, his fingers running over the keypad. He jolted when his phone buzzed and lit up, John held his breath when he read Mycroft on the screen, _shit! bugger! fuck!_ Pressing the centre button John felt a new anger boil inside him.

_If you've finished being angry, go home John._

_Mycroft_

_Piss off!_

_JW_

John went to switch his phone off when it buzzed again, this time Sherlock's name appeared.

_Come home?_

_SH_

John sighed, he'd never seen Sherlock be anything but confident, arrogant and in control, one question mark and John realised just how normal and human he truly was. The phone buzzed again.

_I'm sorry_

_SH_

John closed his eyes, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to go home. 221b had become his home, the experiments, the mess, the man. But Sherlock needed this as much as he did.

_For?_

_JW_

_The mug._

_SH_

_And?_

_JW_

_Too many variables_

_SH_

John laughed despite himself, he heard Harry enter the room, turning he saw her lean against the doorframe.

"Sherlock?" she nodded towards his phone.

"Yeah," John held the phone close to his heart.

"You should go home John," Harry smiled softly. "Don't leave it, because soon it'll be like a wound without medical attention, it'll begin to fester and when you try to mend it you'll find that it's gone too far and you'll have to amputate."

"When did you get so smart?" John laughed quietly.

"When Clara gave me another chance," Harry smiled. "I enter AA tomorrow."

"Harry," John rose and wrapped his arms around his sister.

"Go home John," Harry murmured into his shoulder.

John let his sister go and nodded, grabbing his jacket and zipping up his suitcase. He was leaving even before Harry entered the room, he needed to go home.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: And we're back to Sherlock's POV.

Sherlock stared at his phone, willing it to beep, light up anything! John had replied to begin with and now...now nothing!

"ARG!" Sherlock threw the phone away, running his fingers angrily through his hair.

"Careful," John's voice sounded from the door.

"John," Sherlock breathed, standing to face his flatmate.

"Sherlock," John replied.

They stared at each other for a few moments before Sherlock took off in a flurry of dressing gown and paper. Sherlock heard John's huff of laughter before he reentered the lounge with his hands behind his back.

"What have you got there?" John was still smiling, that had to be a good thing.

Sherlock stepped up to him, pulling his hands out he presented John with his dad's mug, John's eyes went wide as he took the proffered mug. "I found all the pieces and glued it back together."

"Sherlock," John whispered, the awe in his voice had Sherlock grinning. "Sherlock," John looked up at him, "you amaze me." John looked back down at the mug in his hands, Sherlock watched as John's fingers traced over the handle, his stomach unclenching for the first time since John left.

"Nothing new there," Sherlock smiled.

John pushed him gently, "Tea?"

"No," Sherlock stared down at him.

"OKay then," John murmured going to walk around him.

Sherlock's arm shot out and grabbed John. "I really am sorry John."

"I know Sherlock," John gave him a small smile.

"Erm...thank you for coming home," Sherlock coughed slightly.

"I should've come home sooner," John whispered, looking at him with an emotion Sherlock was certain he'd never seen directed at him before. "Just for future reference though," John pulled Sherlock down to his level, "next time you use my mug, for any reason, I'm kicking you out. Harry's sofa isn't comfy at all."

"I thought you were at Sarah's," Sherlock frowned, John's breath ghosted over his cheek.

"Broke up, weeks ago," John chuckled. "So much for being observant."

Sherlock stepped back, John was flirting with him? Why? They'd just had a falling out and now he was flirting? This was why Sherlock didn't bother with feelings and emotions, they were too interchangeable.

"What is it Sherlock?" John looked up at him, exhaustion, relief and another emotion that will not be named was written across his face.

"We've just made up after a falling out, have we not?" Sherlock raked a hand through his hair.

"Yes," John stepped closer.

"Your flirting with me," Sherlock stated.

"Yes"

"Why?" Sherlock faced him. "You know I'm married to my work, you know I don't think feelings are logical, so why?"

"Because you're not the only person here Sherlock!" John shot back. "Your opinion isn't the only one that matters."

"But they are illogical John, you must see that!" Sherlock threw his hands up.

"If my feelings and opinions are that illogical and therefore unimportant, then I should just leave again!" John reached for his suitcase.

"Don't," Sherlock whispered. "Please don't leave again."

"Why shouldn't I, Sherlock?" John asked, his relief from returning home replaced with rejection and shame.

Sherlock looked away from John, his heart ached and his stomach was clenching again. "I need you," Sherlock murmured, almost too quiet for John to hear, but he did.

John placed a hand on Sherlock's back, "I need you too," John turned Sherlock towards him. "It's okay if you don't understand feelings, but stop pretending that they don't exist."

Sherlock looked down at John, his face so open and so willing to let him break him some more. "If I stop pretending will you stay?"

"To be honest? I'd stay either way," John wrapped his arms loosely around Sherlock, giving him the room to escape if he wanted.

Sherlock stiffened when John's arms went around him, everything was screaming at him to run, everything it seemed but his body. John was so warm, he took a deep breath and he could smell the faint whisp of whiskey, John had been drinking, but he could also smell the mint of his medicated shampoo and tea, always tea. Sherlock took another deep breath and felt his body relax into the familiar scent that was John. Sherlock pulled his arms out and John stepped back.

"Sorry," John blushed.

"No, don't," Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. "Don't let me go," Sherlock whispered into John's hair.

He might not understand the feelings that were coursing through him, or understand why John had returned to him, but John was here and Sherlock felt that he had time, plenty of time to consider and work his way through the illogical mess that were feelings. He felt John's arms tighten slightly, he felt John take a deep breath, on the exhale he heard one word. One word would break and make Sherlock Holmes. _Never._


End file.
